


His Butler, Victorious

by Tea_and_roses



Series: His Butler, Observing Holidays [3]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Angst, Complete, Established SebaCiel, Fluffy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Love, M/M, Misunderstandings, SebaCiel - Freeform, Sebastian is in love and delightfully OOC—indulge me, Sebastian's true form, Valentine's Day, Valentines, Villain!Grell, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-17 14:49:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5874802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tea_and_roses/pseuds/Tea_and_roses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just as Ciel’s competitors begin to suspect Sebastian’s supernatural abilities and consider taking action, Valentine’s Day is upon the manor. Detailed preparations, seriously misinterpreted conversations, and devious hints from villain!Grell suggest that something monumental is going to happen on Valentine’s Day… Ciel prepares morosely for Sebastian to take his soul, Sebastian prepares hopefully for… something else entirely, and all manner of misunderstandings ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Valor

**Author's Note:**

> A sequel to “Twelfth Day.” Ciel is still nineteen. Sebastian is still besotted.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciel does foolish things for love of country, and Sebastian does foolish things for love of Ciel. Author’s penchant for wings is revealed.

February 1, 1895

 

The streets of London were just dark enough and sufficiently deserted that no one bothered about a petite young man draped in the arms of another man and carried like a corpse across the city.

“I do wish, Master,” Sebastian murmured, “that you would refrain from getting yourself nearly murdered with such frequency.”

“But then you get to carry me through the streets like a bride,” Ciel Phantomhive teased, his lips forming a faint smile. His words were slurred and drowsy from blood loss.

“I’m afraid you are looking rather more like the _Pietà_ , my lord,” Sebastian replied, holding back a longsuffering sigh.

The lord Phantomhive’s reckless trust was only one of the day’s many aggravations. For one thing, the manifestation and unfolding of ink-black wings had rather ruined Sebastian’s butler attire, or at least the shirt, waistcoat, and tailcoat. As a result, he was currently using a dreadful-quality jacket—stolen from the scene—to hide the fact that his clothing was in tatters. Next, for reasons incomprehensible, Ciel had ordered Sebastian to return to his human form and expressly forbidden him from flying the earl home, so they were currently walking to the manor, while Ciel’s life ebbed out of a wound in his abdomen. Besides all that, it was clear that dinner was going to be abominably late if it happened at all, and though Sebastian had no interest in eating food, he did have some pride when it came to being a Phantomhive butler.

Ciel’s voice was so soft and blurred it was almost indiscernible.

“Sebastian, I order you to—”

“ _Husshh_ , my lord,” Sebastian interrupted, in a voice one shade too sharp to be soothing. Ciel was clearly not in a fit state to give orders—Sebastian had no idea what unreasonable whim he might voice next—and at any rate, the earl would do well to save his strength.

The fact that Ciel obeyed without objection, his head turning to snuggle into Sebastian’s clothing, was perhaps the most troubling of all possible outcomes.

“Master, you must stay awake; I implore you…”

“You forget your place,” Ciel mumbled, his voice small and indistinct. His next muttered insult was not lost on Sebastian: “Woof.”

“Had you given my name any thought, you might have realized you were naming me after something aptly, if moronically, loyal. I would not stand back and permit your untimely death, my lord.”

A loud, lilting voice proclaimed the forthcoming interruption even before the flash of scarlet hair and clothing could.

“Doesn’t _this_ look _dire_?” Grell Sutcliff exclaimed, jumping down from a roof to land squarely in Sebastian’s way. “I heard the words ‘untimely death’ and thought, I simply must be present for the great Ciel Phantomhive’s destructio—I mean passing.”

Anger pulsed through the demon, but Sebastian arranged everything, from his facial features to his hands around Ciel, to convey a calm and impassive response to the new development.

“I must insist that you keep your voice low,” Sebastian said, sounding as cordial as if he were announcing the day’s menu. “My master is hardly in a state to be shouted at by you, or disturbed by any humans who might overhear.”

“But _Bassy_ —!” Grell shrieked.

“That is quite enough morbid nonsense for today.”

“How do _you_ know?” the reaper taunted. “What makes you think I’m not here to collect his soul right this moment?”

“Because—” said Sebastian, his height increasing with the materialization of intricately-detailed stiletto boots, “—he and I have not completed our contract, and therefore Ciel Phantomhive’s soul is perfectly safe.”

Sebastian looked down at Ciel, still cradled in his arms, and when the demon looked back up, his eyes were a terrible shade of pinkish-purple with vertical pupils. Skin-tight attire of some leather-like substance was hidden beneath the remains of his human clothing, but his effect was still overwhelming. Sebastian smiled, showing a considerable pair of fangs, and put on his most insincere voice for the reaper.

“…I am so _immensely_ sorry.”

There was a sound of fabric tearing, and powerful, feather-sheathed wings unfolded behind Sebastian’s back, blacker than the night around them, and breathtakingly beautiful. Sebastian’s true form was somehow even more elegant than his butler façade, which looked to many in the human world like the last word in elegance. Grell, though no stranger to seeing demons as they actually were, was equal parts enticed and dumbfounded by Sebastian in particular.

“Excuse us, if you would, Grell,” said Sebastian simply, and then his wings spread and he was careening back to the Phantomhive manor, still holding Ciel close to his chest.

 

The following morning was a miserable one for all parties of the Phantomhive household.

Ciel awoke past noon, to find his room still darkened and the deep wound in his abdomen neatly stitched and remarkably well-healed under the bandaging.

He searched his memory, and could recall only the faintest memories of the previous night: the light and heat of a flickering fireplace, and Sebastian singing something soft and sweet to him; the miserable heaviness of his body as Sebastian had laid him in bed, and the sight of Sebastian stirring drops of demon blood into some potion-like salve; the feel of cold night air on his face, and Sebastian carrying him high above the rooftops of London toward—no. No! That could not be right. But Sebastian had used his wings—must have used his true form—and had flown Ciel back to the manor after the interaction with Grell.

“SEBASTIAAAAAAAAAN!”

The shout carried through a significant amount of the mansion, leaving all servants but Tanaka shaking in their shoes and rushing for cover—or at least for a place safely out of earshot.

“You called, my lord?” The demon asked a moment later, clothed in an undamaged uniform and appearing in butler form. He stepped gracefully into the room, wearing simple shoes that were decidedly not black stiletto boots, but it was all wrong nonetheless.

“You disobeyed me!” Ciel snarled. “What the _hell_ did you think you were doing?”

Sebastian stiffened. “I believe I was saving your life, Master.”

“I ordered you not to use your true form last night. You broke our contract.”

“On the contrary, my lord, I merely obeyed an order you once gave, about keeping you from any grave harm. I expect that covers you losing your life of self-imposed blood loss. Besides which, as long as at some point in your natural lifespan I complete my end of the contract, your soul belongs to me. You can neither evade nor hasten my collection of it now that we have begun. …Though,” Sebastian added bitterly, “I do wonder if that explains your frequent attempts on your own life.”

“I am serving my queen,” Ciel snapped. “Facing the dangers she asks of me head-on is not an ‘attempt on my life,’ demon, but an act of self-denying loyalty that I would not expect _you_ to understand!”

Sebastian, fighting a baser instinct than love—namely, the desire to wring the earl’s neck—crossed the room calmly and sat down on the edge of Ciel’s bed, as if to comfort a child. Ciel eyed this turn of events with disapproval.

“I don’t want you here,” he announced.

“My lord,” Sebastian said, choosing a voice too gentle and calming to be refused, “I will not allow you to die or suffer serious harm, however reckless you grow and however lightly you take your own life. But the restrictions you place on me appear to be incredibly arbitrary; your behavior sometimes _requires_ me to use my true form. I was willing to indulge your terms while saving your life was still a possibility, but Grell would have delayed us repeatedly until his prophecies rang true. You would not have survived the rate of blood loss you were experiencing.”

Ciel considered this, but found it unsatisfactory. “If you care so much about my well-being and upholding the contract, then why didn’t you let me finish my order? _Before_ we ran into Grell.”

“Because,” (Sebastian settled into bed beside him), “I expected it would be much like your other self-destructive demands.”

“I knew what has happening,” Ciel protested. “I was going to order you to run instead of walking.”

“Then I was wrong to refuse you.” Sebastian placed one hand over his chest humbly, fearing that Ciel might instruct him to hear out every attempted order, even though they both knew Sebastian only ever interrupted or evaded orders when it was to Ciel’s benefit. No such command came.

“Well then, based on your argument, you should find my order was very reasonable.” Ciel pushed his hair back from his face in a pensive gesture. “Your true form must be concealed. I overheard Baron Williams making a comment at a party last week about you being ‘ _uncommonly_ effective’ as a butler. I know what he meant to suggest, and that he cannot be the only one who thinks it. We have made it your business to be at my side whatever I do and wherever I am, but your abilities are beginning to draw suspicion.

“If anyone finds out what you are—I am sure some already suspect it—you will be far easier to destroy, for they will know what to do with you. I expect seeing you flying around London, or seeing anything even vaguely _like_ you flying near the manor, would give them the evidence they need. Sebastian, I _will not_ have you maimed or killed on my account. That is an—”

“My lord,” Sebastian interrupted swiftly, “you are far too good to me.”

“Will you promise me,” Ciel said, his hand gentle on Sebastian’s cheek and the contract seal across his eye faintly glowing, “that you will be _extremely_ discreet in regard to your true form? …I cannot lose you.”

Sebastian smiled and placed a kiss on Ciel’s lips. “Nor I you, my dear lord. I promise, I shall use my best discretion.”

“That’s not what I was asking.”

“Your precision is to be commended.” Sebastian bent and kissed him again. “Very well. I will be discreet.”

“About…?”

“About revealing my true form. As you wish.” Sebastian looked pleased. “It is no wonder that your business is so successful, my lord… at times, your cunning impresses even me.”

The demon drew back, his hands hovering over Ciel’s side; traces of blood had begun seeping through the bandaging. “…Although you would do well to exercise a bit more prudence about yelling with all your strength when you are suffering a serious injury. Repairing internal organs is tedious work, and there is much to be done.”

“Much to be done about what? _Please_ tell me Lizzy isn’t thinking of hosting another ridiculous party here. I am… unwell. Indefinitely.”

“Oh no, my lord,” Sebastian replied, calmly treating Ciel’s re-opened wound. “I was referring to my holiday preparations.”


	2. Vice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grell—indefatigable in the pursuit of Sebastian—attempts to hurry demon and master toward the end of their contract. A series of comments from Ciel is enthusiastically and entirely misinterpreted by Sebastian; as a result, they spend the week leading up to Valentine’s Day preparing for significantly different events.

February 7

 

Sebastian had spent the past week purchasing everything from exotic ingredients to fine table linens, all of which he stored far from the helpful hands of the staff. A significant portion of his time had also been allotted to hand-forging candy molds imprinted with the Phantomhive family crest. In the name of his master, no task was too challenging or too extravagant… with the possible exception of keeping it all a secret from Ciel. The swinging doors to the kitchen, for example, had no locks.

“Sebastian?” Ciel’s voice sounded to be just on the other side of the door.

“One moment, my lord,” Sebastian called back urgently, piling the in-use candy molds he was testing into cupboards.

“Sebastian, I need to speak with you. What are you possibly doing in there?”

“Valentine’s Day, my lord,” Sebastian answered, sweeping a mess of candy ingredients into a pantry and dusting off his hands. He swung the kitchen door open to face Ciel, and attempted to look calm and orderly.

Ciel raised an eyebrow. “It is a full week away, you know.”

“It is _only_ a week away, my lord.”

“The servants say you’ve been acting strangely, and banning them from using certain parts of the mansion.”

“My lord, their helpfulness in the matter would ruin the holiday beyond saving.”

“Probably so.” Ciel looked over Sebastian’s attire—tailcoat missing, sleeves rolled up, spotless apron over all—and frowned. “I need to speak with the Undertaker about the recent string of murders. I wish for you to accompany me.”

“As you wish, my lord,” Sebastian agreed, although it was supposed to be the time of morning that Ciel busied himself with Funtom Company business and Sebastian worked around the mansion—or in this case, worked on holiday preparations. The candy experiment would have to be collected from the sundry cupboards and pantries where Sebastian had flung it, disposed of completely to prevent the servants from asking questions, and cleaned up perfectly, which meant that Sebastian needed to get Ciel out of the way. He would also have to find a way to smuggle the personalized candy molds safely out of the servants’ territory.

“Allow me a moment to make myself presentable, my lord,” Sebastian entreated, kissing Ciel on the lips and suggesting, in every way possible without actually suggesting it, that Ciel leave the kitchen doorway.

“I’ve seen you in your shirtsleeves before,” Ciel objected. He had, daily, for years and years, when Sebastian bathed him. “What are you _actually_ playing at?”

“My lord, I am merely taking you to Undertaker’s as soon as I possibly can. You have caught me in a bit of a mess, for which I do apologize. It will only be a moment.”

Ciel glanced around. “The kitchen looks decently clean.”

“That doesn’t mean it is, my lord. It simply means I _wanted_ you to find it decent-looking.”

“Fine.” Ciel heaved a sigh, more likely for dramatic effect than true irritation, and retreated into the mansion. “I shall expect you to collect me in three minutes,” he added over his shoulder. It was too generous a space of time for a motivated demon to clean a kitchen, but then, Ciel knew Sebastian also had to run an errand somewhere else in the mansion, or attend to some other complicated business, based on the demon’s reactions.

 

“I cannot fathom,” said Sebastian, as he helped Ciel down from the carriage graciously but also for the excuse to touch his hand in public, “why Undertaker does not find you entertaining. I find you delightful.”

“The problem—” (Ciel stepped gingerly over a puddle, and Sebastian held his elbow for a moment longer than necessary), “—is that I will not stoop to reciting idiotic jokes at payment, even if I do require his services.”

“But you make me laugh, and you never tell jokes.”

“You’re biased,” Ciel scoffed. “The Undertaker is not predisposed to find me amusing. I do not kiss the Undertaker.”

“Quite right,” Sebastian agreed, in what was either politeness or possessiveness or both. The façade of the Undertaker’s shop stood before them, and Sebastian hesitated before knocking on the door. “Would you like to come inside?” he asked Ciel.

“No, thank you. I would prefer to spare myself the agony of enduring another of your puns.”

“Very well, my lord,” Sebastian said cordially, and knocked at the door. The door swung open, so Sebastian entered, but the owner was nowhere to be seen.

“SURPRISE, _BASSY_!” Grell howled, launching at Sebastian’s chest and into his arms (which were promptly used to detain the reaper at arms’ length).

“Where is Undertaker?” Sebastian demanded.

“I reaped his soul, darling,” Grell replied, before bursting into peals of laughter. Sebastian glared and released the reaper with a shove.

“Undertaker, you have a caller,” Sebastian announced, projecting his voice into the shop.

“He’ll be just a moment, love; he’s in the cellar,” Grell said, inspecting red fingernails. “Had to get some special tools to work on the dead bodies he’s got right now. I think it’s all _horribly_ romantic; heart shapes carved over their hearts and—”

“I _know_ about the bodies,” Sebastian interrupted impatiently. “I—”

“Of course, there’s one body you and I both would love to see in this shop. Well, besides yours, unclothed.” Grell took a daring step closer, beaming up at Sebastian from behind eye-catching red spectacles. “Finish your contract with the boy. He wants you to, you know. It’s quite the agony for a mere mortal to spend his life _fretting_ over when a definite and _painful_ death is going to come. If you actually cared about him, Bassy, you’d get him his revenge, and put the poor brat out of his misery.”

“He is not in any misery, Grell, except when you try to murder him.”

“Murder him? Bassy, my darling, I’m a reaper. My job is to see that souls depart this life when the time is right. It’s _time_ , Sebastian.”

“And whatever makes you think he wants that?”

“Oh, I was just passing through the estate on my way somewhere the other night, and thought I might check up on you.” (Sebastian glared daggers at this.) “Well, I passed by the boy’s window, and there he was, looking up at the stars and talking, like he was praying. Quite offensive, I thought, considering your contract and all. But maybe he was talking to his dead parents; what do I know? Anyway, he said he hoped you’d take his soul for Valentine’s Day this year, that it would be the most wonderful and deeply appreciated thing you could do for him. You do cause him all kinds of agony by keeping the end from him, Bassy.”

Grell took great pride in having the ability to lie through one's teeth, and lo and behold, Sebastian considered the ridiculous story.

“But that’s…” Before Sebastian could finish his thought, Undertaker appeared, humming with a morbid gaiety and chewing a bone-shaped biscuit.

“Happy Valentine’s Month, _Bassy_ ,” Grell bid, saying the last word too close to Sebastian’s ear, and then disappearing deeper into the shop. If Grell had exited the front door, Sebastian would have followed to be sure the reaper did not speed up the separation of Ciel’s body and soul; instead, it seemed Grell was going to inspect the heart-marked corpses.

Sebastian was left to entertain the Undertaker, although it took him a moment to remember the joke.

 

Now—Sebastian primed to believe Ciel wanted his soul taken—Grell set about laying a similar trap for Ciel; he must be prompted to encourage Sebastian. As expected, the earl was waiting silently on the doorstep, his hands collected atop a formal walking stick that still failed to make him look sufficiently mature for his position.

“Ciel Phantomhive,” Grell purred, dragging out each word and playing disarmingly with a lock of red hair. The reaper sized up Ciel in the way a predatory animal might.

“Grell Sutcliff,” Ciel replied, looking admirably composed.

“In spite of the fact that I hate you with a violent, _passionate_ rage, I thought I should say: I think you’re very brave.”

The earl raised an eyebrow.

“So very few humans go through life waiting for a demon to devour their souls. Such an absolutely _agonizing_ sense of dread and inevitability; I can hardly imagine it.”

“So you want me to believe that you never imagine being me, contracted to Sebastian? That’s a laugh.”

“Whether I love Bassy or not,” Grell retorted haughtily, “I came to do my due diligence by you as a reaper. Reaper to human, you know, not because I care about you.”

“Tell me.” Ciel actually sounded intrigued.

“Your demon didn’t only come to the Undertaker’s today to get information for _you_ ,” Grell confided. “He came to make arrangements with the Undertaker about a different matter.”

“Oh?”

“In a week’s time, on February 14th, something very important is scheduled in your life, Ciel Phantomhive.” Grell, eyebrows raised in an expression that was almost genuine concern, leaned closer to whisper. “Your revenge will be complete, _and_ _Sebastian is going to consume your soul_.”

“WHA—” Ciel started to exclaim, but a lovely hand with red-enameled fingernails swiftly muffled his cry.

“Shh, _shh_ , Ciel, hush,” Grell instructed hastily. “If Sebastian knew I told you in advance, he would kill us both. At once.”

“Well, good riddance about you, anyway,” Ciel spat out.

“You cannot tell him you found out, or that I gave you a fair warning about it,” Grell ordered. “Will’s the one making us do it, being all righteous the way he is. It’s a kindness reapers extend to humans—one of our duties when we know that a soul we should have collected will be stolen by a demon.”

“Sebastian has never acted—My revenge is not even—”

“Of course Sebastian wouldn’t mention it. Demons turn into savage beasts when it comes to human souls; Sebastian needs your soul as awful as he can get it. He would never give you time to set your life in order. Sebastian is a demon. He will finish your revenge for you, and then, when you least expect it, he will destroy your soul.”

“But… Grell…” Ciel looked distressed. “I don’t want it done _for_ me.”

Grell sighed in a maternal way and patted Ciel’s shoulder.

“At least it gets done by someone. Not everyone gets to die with their life’s wish completed.”

“You’re not helping.”

“Well, _I’m_ not the one who sold my soul to a demon. When Valentine’s Day comes, you’re going to be torn apart and enter into an eternal state of non-existence. There’s no going back. You may as well make him believe you want it.”

Ciel grimaced, but squared his shoulders. “I will accept the end of the contract.”

“And what about Bassy taking your soul?”

“Nothing will happen to me without my consent. If he can earn it, Sebastian is welcome to my soul. I may even encourage him.”

Work accomplished, Grell flashed a smile of pointed teeth.

“And Grell, you are the last person on earth I would expect to thank, but…”

The reaper looked on eagerly, as Ciel struggled to overcome his pride.

“…Thank you,” he managed at last.

“Of _course_! And if I don’t see you again,” (Grell’s eyes gleamed wickedly), “have a lovely week until Valentine’s Day.”

Grell flounced away, waves of red hair flipping and fluttering, leaving Ciel with a reeling perspective of reapers, Sebastian, and life itself.

 

The atmosphere in the carriage was notably tenser during the return trip than it had been going into the city.

“My lord…” Sebastian’s best empathetic face made Ciel’s stomach turn in repulsion. “Is something the matter?”

Ciel shook his head, and looked out the window pointedly. Then, recalling Grell’s advice, he squared his shoulders. “No.”

“Did Grell converse with you, my lord?”

Ciel was proficient at hiding his reactions from humans, but Sebastian noticed his cheeks had become just a touch pinker. Raised by a demon, however, Ciel was not one to answer a question directly if he did not feel like it.

“Do you have anything special planned for Valentine’s Day, Sebastian?” Ciel asked, purposely making eye contact in what he hoped was a bold and defiant manner. His nerves were running wild, however, and Sebastian could always tell from a mile away when Ciel’s body betrayed his fear or anxiety.

Sebastian thought about the candy molds and the dinner preparations and wondered what on earth was causing Ciel’s racing heartbeat.

“Would you rather I didn’t, my lord?” Sebastian asked hesitantly.

“Oh, no,” Ciel objected, using an overconfident voice Sebastian hardly ever heard. It sounded almost sultry. “We have something _very_ important we should do, don’t you think?”

“And do I know what this something is, my lord?”

Ciel laughed. “If you’re not a fool, yes. This has been a long time coming, but I think it’s time.”

 _Time_. Sebastian’s mind was practically whirring. Grell had said it was ‘time.’ Valentine’s Day apparently was ‘time.’ But what human—who seemed relatively happy with the way life was going—would possibly induce a demon to destroy the human’s soul earlier rather than later?

“I expect I know what to give you for Valentine’s Day,” Ciel continued.

“And what would that be, my lord?”

“Myself.”

There was a seductiveness in Ciel’s tone and bearing that made something click in Sebastian’s mind. So _that_ must have been when Grell overheard! Ciel wanted Sebastian to take his _body_ for Valentine’s Day, not his soul.

The world that Grell (and Ciel, with his nervousness at proposing the possibility) had temporarily shattered all fitted back into place gloriously. The world was better, in fact, than it had been before the day’s adventures began and so many bizarre clues had been set forth.

“Do you think you can manage that?” Ciel asked, his manner still affected. He was referring, of course, to the massive amount of detective work and numerous murders Sebastian would need to accomplish in order to fulfill the contract by the end of the week.

 _Manage?_ Sebastian had been waiting for this moment for years. It was Ciel’s business as the human to dictate the relationship—or at least the physical part of it—since Sebastian had no intention of using his dominant status as a demon to manipulate anyone into becoming his lover. He had come to the realization during the previous century, after making a careful study of humans across multiple continents, that genuine love was far more entertaining than sex.

As a result, once he finally found himself in a contract with a worthwhile soul, Sebastian had spent the past several years getting Ciel to love and trust him, excelling beyond the typical expectations for a demon’s service to a contracted human, and falling terribly in love himself, and explicitly not nudging Ciel into anything explicit, and now, finally, here they were. In a carriage, in the middle of London, talking about Valentine’s Day, and Sebastian wanted to kiss him. Well, Sebastian wanted a lot of things, but they were still in town and it was still Ciel, who had very precise and calculated ways of going about all ventures.

“I nearly cannot wait,” replied Sebastian emphatically, looking far too enthusiastic for Ciel’s liking. It seemed like terrible form to act so greedy about a person’s soul when the person still had a week to live, and demons were supposed to be all about aesthetics, but Ciel supposed Grell was right, and demons were simply animalistic on the point of souls.

Sebastian, for once, was too wrapped up in his own thoughts and awe and ecstasy to notice Ciel’s distaste, and spent the rest of the carriage ride happily making mental plans, with what Ciel considered a sadistically gleeful expression.

 

 

February 10

 

Valentine’s Day inched closer, and Sebastian grew only more enthusiastic. Ciel had finally ordered him to act less excited about the event, and so when the butler arrived bearing afternoon tea, he displayed a forcedly calm demeanor, and explained the tea and food’s origins without a single smile.

Ciel accepted the tea and sighed.

“I have been giving Valentine’s Day some thought, and I would like to ask you a question that will probably appear silly.”

“Anything at all, my lord.”

“How am I to dress? What do people usually wear to…” (Ciel gestured vaguely and still failed to find the correct wording) “… _this_?”

“There seems to be no conclusive answer to that question, my lord. Humans are very interesting and creative creatures, and have tried all manner of dress. In the end—to be frank—I am unconvinced it is of any real importance.”

At the despondent look on Ciel’s face, Sebastian hastily amended his reply.

“You must forgive me if I offend; I intend precisely the opposite.”

Ciel shook his head. “You could not cause me offense, Sebastian. Not now. That would be utterly pointless.”

“Quite right, my lord,” Sebastian agreed, stooping beside the desk to kiss him. Ciel considered turning away and rejecting Sebastian—it was hardly fair of the demon to remind Ciel what he would soon be missing—but then decided he may as well enjoy it. This _was_ the last week he had to appreciate his life.

Sebastian drew back, straightening his uniform. “ _Someone_ is hesitant today.”

“I am not!” Ciel blushed. How could Sebastian be so proficient at reading him? “I am busy. My mind is elsewhere.”

“Well, a week remains until Valentine’s Day, my lord. I mean no presumption whatsoever—truly, _only_ if it would help you—but shall I buy myself a gift, to spare you the trouble? I assure you, I wouldn’t mind at all… You have a demanding week of work before you. And of course, I will be the one taking you away from it.”

Ciel, exasperated by the frequent reminders, glared at his business reports. “Sebastian, I can hardly see why such gifts would be necessary or even relevant at that point. …Excuse me for being blunt.”

Sebastian smiled sweetly. “I wholeheartedly agree; I could ask for nothing better of you. Surely, the gift of yourself will render any material gifts meaninglessly trivial by comparison. However, I’m afraid you will simply have to endure my attachment to gift-giving, for I will be giving you a proper Valentine’s Day gift nonetheless. At least as a token.”

“I cannot refuse you,” Ciel murmured absent-mindedly, concentrating on the papers spread before him. If Sebastian wished to spoil Ciel on the earl’s last day, he may as well. It hardly mattered, and it might even be nice.

Sebastian, hand over his heart, bowed and left his master to work without distraction.

 

 

February 13

 

The last normal evening of Ciel’s life—assuming he even made it as far as evening the following day—was a restless one. Sebastian, pushing the boundaries of a contracted order, had done poor work all day of masking his exuberance. He had also spent most of the day away from Ciel, busying himself with some mysterious work, which was just as well; Ciel had little desire to see the demon and be reminded of his own mortality.

When evening fell, Ciel was slightly disappointed that Sebastian had done nothing extraordinarily special for dinner, but supposed he was not worth any extra effort now that the contract was all but over.

When night fell, Sebastian was religiously fastidious—and rather more adoring than usual—about preparing Ciel’s body for bed. Ciel appeared distracted and withdrawn during the entire routine, which Sebastian blamed on shyness and politely did not bring to the earl’s attention.

In the end, however, Ciel thought about the past six sleepless nights and decided he favored comfort, even a hollow comfort, over a proud loneliness. It _was_ his last night on earth, after all; he deserved to do what he wanted.

As Sebastian withdrew in the way he had been ordered to do the past six nights, candelabra in hand and posture professional, Ciel interrupted him.

“Sebastian.”

“Yes, my lord?”

“Put on sleeping clothes and get into bed with me. That is an order.”

Sebastian looked surprised for only an instant, and then politely bowed his way out of the room with a hasty “my lord.”

The demon returned a moment later, his complicated uniform exchanged for soft pajamas Ciel had very selfishly given him for Christmas. He climbed into bed with Ciel, and then hesitated.

“Now what, my lord?” Sebastian asked, his words chosen very intentionally. The words (and associated memory) struck a strange sorrow and frustration into Ciel’s heart. It had been a peculiarly delightful fourteen months, and Ciel could not see why he had to give it up so soon. Sebastian certainly had _seemed_ to enjoy being with him, to whatever extent they had been.

But none of that mattered now.

“Hold me,” Ciel instructed in a soft voice.

Sebastian obligingly wrapped his arms around the earl, and Ciel snuggled up against Sebastian’s chest, listening to the evenness of the demon’s heart and wondering what life would have been like if he had ever done anything besides kiss Sebastian. However, Ciel was resigned to the fact that now he would never know.

In light of what they both knew about the following day, it was unthinkable to ask or to try. Sebastian would surely find a way to be unkind, as he had been all week. Grell’s advice was right: Ciel must not give the demon an opportunity to humiliate him. He may as well act pleased by the contract’s end.

“Whatever are you doing still awake, my lord?” Sebastian murmured, stroking Ciel’s hair.

“Thinking about Valentine’s Day tomorrow,” Ciel replied. “Have you completed the necessary preparations?” (Sebastian was terribly efficient, after all. Ciel had no idea when during the week the demon had slipped away to avenge Ciel’s childhood and complete his revenge, but also had no doubt that Sebastian would have managed.)

“Of course, my lord,” said the butler, his mind on specialized chocolates and tea menus and dinner preparations. “…If I couldn’t do a thing like that—” (he kissed Ciel’s hair lightly, and spoke almost too softly to be heard), “—what kind of lover would I be?”

Ciel simply sighed. It was all so terribly unfair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~The update (Chapters 3 and 4) should be posted around Valentine's Day...~~ Thank you for reading!
> 
> 2/15/16  
> ...Despite my very best efforts, Chapters 3 and 4 are requiring more care than I originally anticipated, and I will need one more weekend to do the idea justice... Thank you for your patience, and Happy International Fanworks Day, dear readers!


	3. Virtue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miscommunication and misunderstandings—about what, precisely, is supposed to occur on Valentine’s Day—only intensify as the day unfolds. When the confusion finally resolves, Ciel and Sebastian must come to terms with their original contract and the obligations they will eventually be forced to fulfill as a result.

February 14

 

Usually, Sebastian was long out of bed and in the process of serving tea when Ciel began to wake up. This morning, however, Ciel rolled over in bed and found Sebastian beside him once again.

“What are _you_ still doing here?” Ciel demanded, concerned he may not actually want to know the answer.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, my lord.”

Sebastian leaned over to kiss Ciel, but the earl pretended not to know and turned his face away. The demon landed his kiss on Ciel’s neck (which tended to draw out a better reaction anyway), wrote off the snub as Ciel’s usual pre-tea grumpiness, and rose from bed to begin pouring tea.

“If we are _actually_ going to celebrate Valentine’s Day,” Ciel grumbled, “then I hope there will be desserts, at least.”

“I made eight kinds of cake,” Sebastian suggested helpfully, placing a tray of tea and breakfast before the earl, and doing his best to not appear offensively excited.

“That’s a good start.”

“If you are wishing for boxed chocolates, I am afraid I shall have to disappoint. That would be far too common a gift for someone as uncommon as you, my lord.” Sebastian gently cleared his throat. “Rather, I made chocolates, by hand, in forty-two varieties, bearing the Phantomhive crest, and with none of the flavors you dislike.”

Ciel looked dumbfounded. “What am I to do with those?”

“Eat them, I expect. What would you like to do with them?”

“But I can’t possibly eat that much chocolate in one day.”

“Well… no. I mean, I suppose you could—a gift is a gift—but it does seem rather excessive.”

Ciel remembered his manners at last, and fell back on them, although it all felt surreally unimportant. “Thank you, Sebastian. That was very… thoughtful of you.”

“I am ever happy to oblige you, my lord.” Sebastian lifted Ciel’s hand to his lips, and the earl shuddered, bracing for an attack that never came. Of course, the demon noticed his jumpiness and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Whatever is the matter, my lord?”

“‘The matter?’ This is _hardly_ a day for jests.” Ciel looked genuinely affronted, though Sebastian could not imagine why.

“I—”

“You cannot possibly be dense enough to ask that in earnest,” the earl snapped.

“You’re frightened.” Upon this observation, Sebastian had the decency to look concerned. “Seven hells, my lord, if you don’t want—”

“No!” Ciel’s voice was sharp and sudden, order-like. “I will not put it off. And don’t swear at me.”

“Yes, my lord.” Sebastian sounded more puzzled than ever. “I merely thought you—”

Ciel, apparently not listening, interrupted in a rush.

“Will you at least warn me in advance?”

“ _Warn_ you, my lord?” Sebastian looked stricken, and much paler than usual. “My love—my lord—we are not doing this. Not today.”

“No! Sebastian, you can’t. It would be far worse to wait.”

“‘Worse’? My lord, the fact that you think it will be unpleasant at all is only proving my point. I refuse out of hand. This was a mistake, even if you did suggest it. You are useless to me if you don’t wish to participate.”

“But… you deserve it. And I said I—”

“All irrelevant.” Sebastian nodded once, in a definitive parting gesture. “If you would excuse me—”

“I object to you not following my wishes. You are being cruel, Sebastian.”

“And you are being senseless. Good _morning_ , my lord.”

Ciel crossed his arms. “Today. That’s an order.”

Sebastian turned back in the doorway, and met Ciel’s eyes levelly. “We shall see.”

Ciel was left to glare at the food Sebastian had given him and try to make sense of the whole mess. Why Sebastian had bothered to cut every conceivable breakfast food into the shape of hearts, but could not be troubled to simply inform him what time of day his life would be ending, was baffling.

 

Following breakfast, Ciel sat down with Tanaka and had a long talk with him about the estate and what was to become of it in the event of the earl’s death. He tried to give the impression that his death was imminent, but Tanaka simply smiled knowingly and reminded Ciel that he was still quite young and had a lot of people and a demon to look after him. This, of course, was the problem, but Tanaka insisted Ciel would be taken care of excellently.

Ciel, having made his wishes clear, gave up on convincing Tanaka of what was actually going on.

 

Luncheon seemed like an appropriate time to end Sebastian’s unbecoming intransigence on the matter of Ciel’s soul, since the butler would be forced to interact with him.

The concept seemed to have become some kind of odd power trip, with Sebastian protesting his distaste for taking Ciel’s soul if Ciel did not wholeheartedly want to give it, and the demon consequently pushing the entire awful process out onto some indefinite date, just when Ciel had psychologically prepared himself for it happening immediately.

If Sebastian wanted reassurance, bizarre as it all was, Ciel would give it to him. Grell had been right that the knowledge of one’s impending dissolution was agonizing. It must be completed as quickly as the demon could be compelled to do it.

When Sebastian returned to the dining room, bearing sandwiches and salads and pies all fashioned into heart shapes, Ciel cleared his throat loudly.

“How may I be of service, my lord?” Sebastian—who this same morning had been teasing and kissing Ciel—had apparently reverted entirely to the role of dignified butler. He stood at attention, looking no more than politely concerned.

“Will you join me?” Ciel asked, gesturing at a chair.

Sebastian, expressionless, took a seat.

“I was wrong,” Ciel announced without preamble. “You may disregard my most recent order, Sebastian.”

The butler relaxed only slightly. “I would apologize, Master.”

Ciel nodded approval.

“My lord, my intentions could not be further from attempting to pressure you. I apologize if my behavior implied otherwise.” Sebastian looked genuinely remorseful, but now that their wishes were aligned—on the point that Ciel’s soul was to be taken as soon as possible—Ciel felt it hardly mattered.

“There is nothing to forgive, Sebastian.”

“You are too kind.”

The earl smiled, but in it Sebastian recognized a face that Ciel made at business associates when he was trying to appear demure and childlike. It was beautiful, but coming from Ciel, disingenuous. Sebastian knew when he was going to be played.

“Anyway, I found your selflessness on the matter rather impressive,” Ciel continued. “Are you so sure you’re still a demon?”

Sebastian considered dramatically changing into his true form in response. In this particular moment, that would be excessively flamboyant, even for him. He also considered that, though by demon regulations he was still contracted to Ciel’s soul, Sebastian was doing a rather terrible job of living out his demon morality, and his entire identity and continued existence were, in fact, in question. However, Sebastian said none of those things to Ciel.

“Would you have me be something else, my lord?”

“Oh, no.” Ciel smiled. “I would merely have you claim what you are owed.”

“My lord, you owe me nothing.”

“Nothing?” The earl lifted an eyebrow, his voice mocking. “Not even my soul?”

“Very well, Master; your soul belongs to me.”

Ciel suddenly looked pensive. “Sebastian, have you enjoyed our contract?”

“What a peculiar question, my lord. If I have failed to make it abundantly clear, yes, I have very much enjoyed our contract. I will enjoy it whether or not we choose to—”

“Sebastian, it cannot wait. _I_ cannot wait. I expect you to fulfill your promise, and do as we have discussed.”

“When, my lord?”

 _Finally_ , some closure on the matter. “This evening. After dinner.”

“And what—” (Ciel rose from the table, so Sebastian followed suit), “—am I to make of the way you reacted only this morning?”

Ciel stepped into Sebastian’s space and stood on tiptoe to kiss him. This usually had a fairly strong effect on potential disagreements.

“I was a bit overcome by the idea, is all,” Ciel assured him. “I look forward to tonight’s events with great expectation.”

“As do I, my lord,” said Sebastian, still rather incredulous.

 

For Ciel’s last day, Sebastian made a proper holiday dinner, which pleased the earl, although he was by then too anxious to eat very much. The fact that Sebastian had put forth the effort, however, was at once touching and reassuring. At the end of it all, Ciel stood up definitively.

“Are you ready?” he inquired, nodding at Sebastian.

“Very much so, my lord. Shall I change into my true form?”

“Not yet. I prefer you as you are.”

“Very well.”

“Only one thing, Sebastian…” Ciel hesitated, then decided (as he had several times already that week) to do as he wished. “Will you carry me, as if I were hurt?”

“My lord, you need not be hurt for me to carry you.”

Sebastian obligingly gathered his master up into his arms; Ciel rested his face against the expensive fabric of Sebastian’s uniform one last time and tried to enjoy the moment.

 

When they reached Ciel’s room, Sebastian set about tending the fireplace and lighting dozens of white candles, while Ciel lay in bed and wished it looked less like a funeral. There was really an excessive amount of candles.

At last, the demon turned his attention to Ciel.

Sebastian, who had previously divested himself of tailcoat, waistcoat, and tie, began unbuttoning his shirt when Ciel objected.

“I hardly think that fair.”

The Earl of Phantomhive was not going to tolerate being killed by a shirtless demon if he could help it; that was entirely uncalled for. Sebastian ought to know enough to appear as butler-like and un-lover-like as possible in this unpleasant situation. It would calm Ciel’s nerves, and remind him of their original agreement.

“I only wish to please you, my lord. Please, tell me what to do.” With lightning speed, Sebastian had re-buttoned his shirt and presented himself to Ciel. It was not very like their usual earl-and-butler dynamics, but if Ciel wanted to undress Sebastian, he was welcome to it.

“Don’t you mean yourself?” Ciel asked crossly.

“Well, I expect I will be pleased in the process, yes, but I will do whatever you ask of me. You need only order me to do something.”

“Very well,” said Ciel, sitting back against the pillows. “Begin.”

“But how?”

Ciel looked confounded to the point of exasperation. “ _I_ am not the one who—!”

Sebastian realized he had managed to get himself into serious trouble—bringing up Ciel’s inexperience at anything was never helpful. “No, my lord, _my lord_ ,” Sebastian interrupted hastily, “I simply meant there are so many ways… and I want to make you happy.”

“I am not certain that’s possible,” Ciel replied severely.

Sebastian gave him a look of arrogant disagreement. “You’d be surprised.”

“Very well,” the earl agreed. “Begin however you think it should begin.”

“All right.” Sebastian climbed into bed—rather on top of Ciel, but gently so—and began to kiss him. Ciel kissed back, for Grell was right; he may as well own what happened to him. However, minutes passed and still Sebastian was only kissing him, albeit perhaps more hungrily than usual. When Sebastian finally pulled back—he could always ascertain when Ciel was thinking about something—the earl decided to risk an inquiry.

“You’re just making out with me,” Ciel accused.

“Well, yes; you said I could begin however I wanted…”

“But why does it begin like that?”

“It doesn’t; it begins however you want it to. I thought it would be nice, and it would make you more comfortable.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Well, I can’t imagine why. If you had something better in mind, you should have—”

“Better than _what_ , Sebastian?! Just do it, and get it over with it!”

“In spite of your _ridiculous_ conception of what could have been a very romantic event, how do you propose that even happens? You’re still wearing all your clothes, and you refuse to allow me to so much as remove my—”

“WHY IN HELL’S NAME DO I NEED TO BE NAKED FOR YOU TO TAKE MY BLOODY—” / “If it makes you so upset, my lord, why did you possibly suggest that we start having—”

“—SOUL?!” Ciel finished fiercely, just as Sebastian asked, “—sex?”

There was a pause, during which the truth dawned painfully on Sebastian and pleasantly on Ciel.

“Is _that_ what you thought I was preparing for…” Sebastian mused. “My lord, you have not even completed your revenge.”

“Grell told me—”

“Grell, I am afraid we must assume, is a repulsive liar. Unless you actually stand by your bedroom window at night watching the stars and wishing out loud I would take your soul. Or body. If this is not the case, I believe we have been badly misused.”

“Of course not. That’s absurd.” Ciel frowned. “So, I suppose that means you didn’t spend the week completing my revenge, so that today you could devour my soul?”

“My lord,” Sebastian said gently, “I would not accomplish your revenge without you; our contract obliges me to help you succeed in such endeavors yourself. And even then, I am no longer certain I have any designs upon your soul.”

Ciel was shocked. “You would break the contract?”

“I would help you with your end of it, at least.”

“How could a demon not take a human’s soul? Is there something wrong with it?”

“No, my lord, of course not. You have an exquisite soul.” Sebastian kissed him. “There is something wrong with _me_.”

“What will happen, then, if you never take my soul?”

Sebastian laughed bitterly. “I will be unmade, I expect. My Prince is not as forgiving as your King.”

“God does not belong to me, Sebastian. He isn’t my king.”

“He would probably disagree.”

“Besides, my soul is covered in blood; I hardly expect any god wants it. Why would you not simply take it yourself?”

“Because I am unconvinced, my lord, that I should rob you of eternity. It is quite a long time, as you may imagine, and I believe most beings would agree that existence is preferable to non-existence.”

“Can you make me immortal, then?” Ciel asked. “Could I not become a demon, like you?”

“Of course it’s not that simple,” Sebastian replied. “You have a human’s spirit; that much you cannot change. If no demon consumes you, then you—or rather, your soul—are already immortal.”

“Then I have little desire to go on existing forever as a soul.”

“You may say that, my lord, but you could hardly understand without having experienced it for yourself. It is a far different existence, when time is no longer relevant.”

“But what will happen to you?”

“If I do not behave as a proper demon—devouring the souls I can earn, without pity—I will most likely be hunted by my kind and destroyed as I deserve. Demons are defined by their choice: to serve God or Satan for all eternity, and to work for mercy or misery. I am hardly fulfilling my duties.”

“But _why—_?”

“Because, my lord, I wanted to see what it would be like to love someone.”

Ciel looked both flattered and mortified.

“I must confess,” Sebastian added, “I rather like it. I believe it will end up being worth the trouble.”

“Sebastian, you absolutely cannot… I am breaking the contract!”

“ _You_ are breaking the contract, my lord?” Sebastian shook his head. “You cannot help me. Having already begun rendering my services toward your revenge, _I_ will not be excused from this contract without consuming your soul.”

“Then do it, Sebastian! That is an—”

“ _No_ , it is not,” Sebastian interrupted forcefully. “I will complete my portion of the contract, as you deserve, but I can no longer destroy you.”

“You could.” Ciel looked as though he might cry, though not on his own behalf.

“However, I will not.”

“Then what happens next?”

“Well, we have your entire lifespan, or as long as I can manage to keep you safe, before I am forced to account for my actions regarding your soul. Perhaps—today, for example, being Valentine’s Day in your world—we can think of _something_ to pass the time.”

“If I had known that _that_ was what you were asking all week, I would have acted very differently, you know.”

“Oh, really, my lord?” Sebastian’s smile was delightfully teasing. “What would you have done?”

“Well, for one thing—” (Ciel set about unbuttoning Sebastian’s shirt), “—I would have been far less anxious, and much more eager. For obvious reasons, I rescind my order banning you from showing your excitement.”

“You are too kind, my lord.”

“Also, I would have you call me ‘Ciel.’ But only when we are in bed.”

“That can be managed.”

“And finally, Sebastian—?”

“Yes, Ciel?”

The earl smiled. “I would have you ‘begin’ again.”

“Do you think you will find it ‘fair’ this time?” Sebastian teased, as he began to carry out Ciel’s request.

“Not at all.” Ciel sighed blissfully—an uncharacteristically vulnerable and relaxed sound that Sebastian very much wanted to hear again. “…Knowing you, I expect it will be more than fair, and better than I deserve.”

“Well—if I couldn’t do that—” said Sebastian, kissing Ciel’s neck and drawing out sounds that they could only hope Grell was passing by and hearing, “—whatever—kind of—valentine—would I be?”


	4. Victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciel passes up an opportunity (to complete his revenge), Sebastian takes an opportunity (to prove on his life how his relationship with Ciel has changed him), and Grell loses an opportunity (to be with Sebastian, upon being deservedly cheated out of it).

February 15

 

The sunlight streaming in around the curtains suggested that the time was late afternoon. Ciel Phantomhive and his demon were resolutely ignoring this fact in favor of spending the rest of eternity lying in bed.

Ciel, black feathers brushing his back, lay on Sebastian’s chest, enveloped in arms and wings and an ironic sense of security. He ran a hand through the soft, silken feathers of Sebastian’s wings, marveling at their impossibly comforting texture.

“You ought to allow me to get up, and to prepare you breakfast,” Sebastian murmured.

It was too late for breakfast—perhaps even for lunch—but Ciel preferred breakfast food if there were an opportunity for it, and the first meal of the day seemed a sufficient excuse.

“Stay,” the earl objected drowsily. “I’m not hungry.”

“I find that exceptionally difficult to believe. You are only—and might I say, delightfully—human.”

“Then order the servants to make breakfast.”

“As it turns out, I sent them away on holiday yesterday evening.”

Ciel smiled. “That explains the glorious lack of interruptions.”

“Yes. I assumed we deserved at least one night and day free of havoc. Of course, should anything befall the manor, I shall take it upon myself to defend you.”

Ciel, all but dozing, hummed in response.

“Perhaps what you actually require is more sleep,” Sebastian observed.

“No,” the earl protested, dragging himself upright, and settling onto his own side of the bed. “I am perfectly awake.”

“And you are certain you don’t want any food?”

Ciel tugged Sebastian closer. “Perhaps after this time…”

“If we continue in this way, you are going to wear _me_ out.”

“Oh really?” Ciel sounded justifiably suspicious. “Is that even possible?”

“No,” Sebastian admitted. “However, you are entirely welcome to try.”

Ciel smiled contentedly.

 

When Sebastian finally managed to prepare food, it was nearly dinnertime. Ciel found himself exceptionally hungry after all, and accepted the tea and fruit and scones with gratitude. Sebastian waited patiently, but Ciel could tell the demon was distracted by something, or else anticipating something.

“Why are you in such a rush?” Ciel asked.

“My lord,” Sebastian objected, “I am in no rush. I have not moved.”

“You’re restless.”

“I am motionless.”

“Why don’t you just tell me?!”

“Are you finished eating? I certainly meant no interruption.”

“Sebastian, _tell me_.”

“If you wish, my lord.” The demon produced a large red envelope and laid it on the breakfast tray. “I hope you can forgive me for taking the initiative to compile this; I intended only to assist and to please you. …I had thought to give it to you yesterday as a holiday gift, but it seemed inappropriate in light of the conversation. You need not act on it, my lord; only know that it is available to you.”

Ciel tipped the contents from the envelope. The pages provided the identities and whereabouts of every person on whom the earl was to be revenged; his butler must have spent ages gathering the information in his free time.

“Sebastian…” Ciel murmured. His tone was reverential.

The work of actual revenge still lay before him, but the time commitment—with the tedious footwork leading up to it completed—was suddenly far more manageable.

“If and when you choose to use this information will have no bearing upon our contract, nor on our time together,” Sebastian assured.

Ciel looked through the pages, thinking. “So they are still in close contact with one another. We will need to infiltrate one of their gatherings.”

“Certainly, my lord.”

“Have they expanded their activities?”

Sebastian swallowed. “Yes, my lord. However, their newest practice is… not unlawful.”

Ciel, anticipating the pleasure of ending his enemies’ work permanently, looked a touch eager. “And what do they do now?”

“Having learned from their experience with your impressive escape, my lord, they have recently turned to hunting demons.”

An understanding of where this conversation was heading promptly dawned on Ciel.

“You are _not_ to come with me,” he ordered, in a voice that brooked no objection.

However, Sebastian had braced for Ciel’s outburst, and returned his gaze calmly.

“My lord, I would never permit you to face such a grave danger without my assistance.”

“You are not coming!” Ciel snapped. “If you interfere, I will not go at all.”

“It is a noble enough goal to avenge your ruined childhood, my lord. Do you not wish to satisfy your revenge?”

“Of course I do. For years it has been the most important of all my work.” Ciel considered this for a moment, and amended. “However, I _will not_ have you harmed in the process, Sebastian. That is an o—”

“I am very unlikely to be harmed, my lord,” Sebastian interrupted by habit. “Being supernatural is a great advantage over being mortal in most situations of combat, as you may imagine. I have spent thousands of years perfecting my skill; it is unmatched by any human.”

“There will be many of them, Sebastian. It will not be easy.”

“Without doubt. They are to hold a meeting tomorrow evening.”

Ciel, still reclining in bed, stubbornly folded his arms. “I’m not going.”

“They are planning to enact another sacrifice. Surely you do not wish more children to endure what you have suffered.”

“I will alert Scotland Yard in the morning.”

Sebastian watched Ciel in disbelief. “You will likely have no further opportunity to satisfy your revenge, my lord. Once they escape Scotland Yard, as some surely will, your enemies are certain to end their conspicuous meetings. They will not meet in their full number again.”

“Your safety is a higher priority than my satisfaction, Sebastian.”

“My lord—!”

“Oh, don’t act so shocked. You must have figured out by now that I love you.”

“I…” Sebastian fell speechless.

“You were going to go hungry anyway, so I don’t see why it should matter if I complete my revenge or don’t. I would much prefer to live in this way, unavenged but in your company, than complete my revenge and expend you in the process. It is no longer a profitable exchange.”

“I am flattered, my lord, and yet I find your sentimentality astounding. You are hardly the same Ciel Phantomhive I was summoned to rescue.”

“Then perhaps you have changed me. Do you object to the change?”

There was a rich irony to a demon improving a human’s character, which normally Sebastian would have stopped to enjoy, but instead he recollected himself to make one final argument.

“ _I_ do not, my lord; I only think _you_ might. Now that they have begun their battle against demons, your enemies are gaining quite a following. Surely you have an obligation to your queen and to London society to end their activities. You need not abandon your life’s goal on account of—”

“I am no longer ten years old, Sebastian. Can I not change my goal?”

“You may do whatever you wish, my lord. I am only a butler.”

Sebastian managed to keep a straight face during this assessment, but Ciel laughed outright at the irony, and pulled the demon into a kiss.

“You can probably guess the new goal without too much effort.”

“Though I will not hold you to it, I am honored by your sacrifice, my lord,” Sebastian murmured. “Allow me to express my gratitude.”

“When are the servants returning?” Ciel inquired.

“Sometime after midnight, but you needn’t worry; we can simply lock the bedroo—”

“No, no,” Ciel interrupted dismissively. “Later. Come here.”

Sebastian, requiring no further prompting, responded eagerly.

 

The clocks throughout the mansion had just struck nine o’clock when a tremendous crash sounded downstairs. Glass had been broken violently and in a significant quantity. Even Mey-Rin was not capable of the sounds occurring downstairs and carrying through the mansion.

Ciel swore and Sebastian gathered himself up for battle, perfectly dressed once again as an unassuming but deadly butler. He buttoned Ciel back into clothes at lightning speed.

“You are strictly forbidden from getting hurt,” Ciel instructed.

“I will do my best,” Sebastian promised, giving him a kiss. “I expect you know who our visitors must be.”

“I expect I do,” agreed Ciel, arming himself. He looked rather pleased. “It would have been better for them to lie low another day; Scotland Yard would have gone easier on them than I will.”

“Indeed. Shall we see to your revenge, Master?” Sebastian extended a hand, which Ciel accepted.

“We shall.”

“I suppose there is no point to concealing my true form, as none of our intruders will be leaving alive.”

“Correct. You have my full permission to be as indiscreet as you wish.”

“My lord.” Sebastian shed his butler clothing as he transformed into his more intense and powerful form, attired in black fabric and framed in wings. He and Ciel had just reached the bedroom door when a large window smashed behind them.

“I see there are a number of _reapings_ scheduled to be performed at this address,” Grell crowed, landing dramatically on Ciel’s bedroom floor, and brandishing a book and a non-regulation death scythe.

“Grell!” Ciel exclaimed. Sebastian’s eyes blazed purple.

“I see _we_ will be billing William T. Spears for damage to the Phantomhive mansion,” Sebastian remarked coldly. “Perhaps he can see it is taken out of your paycheck for the next century.”

“Bassy!” Grell stepped closer, grinning wickedly. “You didn’t take my advice.”

“How convenient that you arrived. I have a proposition for you, Grell,” Ciel interposed, stepping face-to-face with Grell. Sebastian again recognized the expression Ciel made when attempting to lure a business associate into some unprofitable arrangement.

“You are hardly the person I want _propositioning_ me,” Grell objected, making eyes at Sebastian over Ciel’s shoulder.

“What a shame. I was going to offer you terms on which you could kiss Sebastian, if you were interested.”

Grell, arms folded, sighed loudly. “The last time we made that deal, Sebastian refused to accept, which I found _extremely_ rude. I see no reason why I shouldn’t run this death scythe right through you right now and be done with it!”

“If you do what I ask,” Ciel said, calmly ignoring the chainsaw Grell was slinging around, “you can have another opportunity with Sebastian. And—” (he looked over his shoulder and made eye contact with the demon), “—he will _absolutely_ accept this time.”

“Hmph!” Grell sniffed. “I’m listening, I _suppose_.”

“Your task is to keep Sebastian and myself safe from harm tonight. Should our servants return to the estate, you must protect them as well. Finally, you will promise to keep the events you witness here a secret, and tell no one. If you uphold these terms, when all of our visitors have been disposed of, you may kiss Sebastian. He will not object.”

“I can do _that_ ,” Grell scoffed, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. No sooner had Grell and Ciel shaken on the deal, however, than a bullet from the corridor grazed the reaper’s coat, and the battle became far less theoretical and more immediate.

Ciel’s once-kidnappers and their entire following had come to the mansion in scores, bringing with them the handful of society members whom Ciel had recently heard spreading gossip about Sebastian’s supernatural abilities. These must have been the new recruits Sebastian had mentioned. At any rate, this simplified things: the gossipers’ suspicions would be confirmed, and promptly afterward, Ciel’s fears for Sebastian’s safety would be quelled by the culprits’ deaths. If Ciel and his butler could manage to stay alive, it would likely be a very successful evening.

 

The night wore on, with the mansion taking a terrible beating, and Ciel dodging a rather astonishing number of bullets, most often because Sebastian deftly caught and returned them. However, the benefit of massive numbers and sophisticated weaponry gave the intruders an unexpected edge; they were far more prepared and talented than those the Phantomhive staff normally faced.

As usual, Sebastian fought beautifully, this time with the benefit of gleaming fangs and slashing talons. For his part, Ciel was decent with a gun, though not nearly so skillful in combat as his servants would have been. Grell, with the proper motivation, was tremendously helpful, and took a particular delight in using the non-regulation death scythe more forcefully than necessary.

Despite the organization supposedly turning its efforts to demon-hunting, Sebastian had only a few close calls—mainly being doused with what the attackers threatened was holy water. The bucketfuls of water had dripped from Sebastian’s wings with no effect, painful or otherwise, and each time Ciel had let out a breath of relief. It would have taken only one bucket of actual holy water to seriously harm the demon; mere droplets of the substance had the power to burn him.

Toward the end of the night, however, Grell had been pulled away into another room to attend to a particularly determined group, and Sebastian and Ciel were left to defend themselves in Ciel’s rather demolished bedroom. A lull in the fighting came at last—the corridor strewn with bodies but no longer with besieging intruders—and both demon and master caught their breaths. Sebastian turned his attention to inspecting Ciel. The earl’s clothes were badly stained, though none of the blood appeared to be his own.

“Is that it, then?” Ciel asked, indicating with a nod the corridor, the attack, his revenge—all of it.

Sebastian shook his head and moved cautiously toward the corridor. The fight was not quite over; he could sense too much adrenaline beyond the broken window and just outside the door, coupled with the overwhelming scent of—

Two men entering the broken window behind them opened fire on Ciel at the same instant that a small group sprang into the doorway, raining bullets upon the earl. In this particular moment, Sebastian’s affection for Ciel betrayed its detrimental effects on his abilities as a demon; in the millisecond Sebastian spent worrying over Ciel’s safety, he missed his opportunity. There was no longer time to catch that many bullets from two directions _and_ incapacitate the attackers. So, Sebastian sent a round of silverware flying precisely into their assailants, and simultaneously tackled Ciel to the ground, out of the bullets’ way.

This meant, of course, that Sebastian was sprawled on the ground, an easy target, for just an instant, which he knew and accepted was long enough for what came next. For half a second he began to get to his feet—arms braced against the ground—and then it happened.

A final masked figure, the last of Ciel’s enemies left standing, stepped out into the doorway at last and dashed a bucket’s worth of chrism onto Sebastian’s head. Ciel, lying beneath the demon, replied with a well-aimed shot, but for Sebastian it was already too late. The pain would be excruciating, and fatal.

The oil mixture, stronger and deadlier than any holy water, drenched Sebastian, as he had expected when he sent Ciel sprawling out of harm’s way; this assailant had been waiting just outside the doorway to ambush the demon for several moments. The heady scent of balsam had carried, proclaiming the attacker’s intent.

Sebastian had known exactly what he was exchanging when he saved Ciel from the final volley of gunshots, laying himself out in range of the holy oil.

Probably better, Sebastian considered in the available instant, to die at the hands of humans misusing something holy than at the hands of demons administering their own sadistic justice, which was the alternative end he had coming. Sebastian’s primary complaint against the universe—though as a demon he supposed he did not deserve one—was that he would have preferred to spend more time with Ciel first. It seemed a mockery that he should be killed in this particular room, while lying over Ciel, in a parody of sex.

And yet a moment passed, during which Ciel cried silently and uncharacteristically, and still Sebastian remained whole above him.

“Why are you not dead?” Ciel finally asked through his tears. He sounded impatient, as if he wished to endure the heartbreak all at once and stop anticipating it. This would not have been the first time these particular enemies had robbed him of everything that mattered in life.

“I… do not know, my lord.” Sebastian sat back on his heels, glossy wings counterbalancing the motion. “I did very much expect to be.”

“So you aren’t going to die?”

“As I haven’t been destroyed yet, no. The damage would be upon contact. Why?” Sebastian raised one eyebrow, teasing. “Would you prefer my death?”

“Of course not.” Ciel laughed in pure relief, then attempted to puzzle out the strange phenomenon. “Was it fake then, like the holy water?”

“No, my lord.” Sebastian drew off his glove, wiped up a bit of the oil mixture coating his hair, and inspected it upon his fingertips. “Rather, I believe it was _all_ real. I cannot fathom how I remain unharmed.”

Ciel, who had sat up to be closer to Sebastian once again, laid his hand on the demon’s chest.

“Perhaps it is no longer antithetical to what you are,” the earl suggested.

“I had not thought it possible… And yet it seems so,” Sebastian agreed. “It is a welcome enough turn of events, my lord; the mark of this will be on me for centuries. There is enough strength in only a slight trace of chrism to deter demons for some time, and I have been bathed in it. No demons will dare the amount of contact required to unmake me.”

“Really?” Ciel’s mismatched eyes lit up with delight; Sebastian looked down to find Ciel’s hand slipping affectionately into his own. “Does that mean you will not be leaving me?”

“Indeed, my lord.” Sebastian permitted Ciel to weave their fingers together, and pressed his master’s hand. “Not even in the end.”

“Your would-be murderers were more helpful than they realized,” Ciel observed.

“Quite so.”

“But if the effect eventually wears off?”

“Being aware of my immunity, I expect I will make use of it again. Forgive my presumption, but I could not possibly abandon your soul to all eternity without my company, my lord.”

“No,” Ciel agreed, lying back on the debris-covered floor and pulling Sebastian with him, “you absolutely could not.”

No sooner had they begun to kiss, however, than the triumphant cheering of the newly-returned servants and the offended throat-clearing of Grell Sutcliff interrupted from the corridor.

Sebastian and Ciel paused; the servants began to chatter all kinds of questions about the disastrous state of the manor, the bodies, the reaper, the kissing, the fact that Sebastian had wings—until finally the butler intervened and ordered them to go clean up the mess as well as they could. The staff trailed away reluctantly, and Grell was left lingering in the doorway.

“ _Well_?” the reaper demanded.

“You did good work, Grell,” Ciel acknowledged, purposefully not moving from his present position beneath Sebastian. The earl smiled wickedly, and spoke in a voice that suggested he had anticipated this moment from the beginning of their deal.

“However, I’m afraid you did not satisfy the terms of our bargain.” Ciel extended one hand; there was the slightest scratch upon his forearm. “As you can see, I have been injured in the battle, which you were _not_ to let happen.”

“That’s just a scratch!” Grell blustered. “I ruined two nails and a perfectly good coat over you! A silly _scratch_ is normal wear-and-tear; you’re not _hurt_. That’s perfectly reasonable for a fight to the death.”

“Well then you should have specified that in the terms of our agreement,” Ciel replied innocently, giving Grell his sweetest smile. “I am grateful for everything you did, of course, but you were to protect me from _all_ harm.”

“That’s _ridiculous_!” Grell stormed.

“That was our contract,” Ciel retorted. “ _I’m_ not the one who hastily accepted an agreement without thinking it through. If you wanted it to be something different, you should have said so.”

“How _RUDE_!” Grell stalked out of the room, pausing only to turn and yell back a threat. “If that’s what you think of our agreement, then I’ll tell the entire _country_ that you murdered a cult here tonight! I’d like to see Sebastian try to defend you against _that_!”

“Anyone with questions about tonight’s events is more than welcome to visit the manor,” Sebastian called back. “There will be no evidence of anything amiss.”

Grell disappeared with a huff and defiant tossing of crimson hair.

In the reaper’s welcome absence, Ciel sighed.

“Congratulations on your victory, my lord.” Sebastian leaned down and kissed Ciel’s cheek, then mouth.

“I suppose you have a great deal of cleaning up to attend to.” The earl looked sulky, despite his best efforts to be mature about the matter. Surely, with a lifetime and the whole of eternity ahead of them, he could manage to be parted from his demon for an hour or so. That was all it would take, after all, if even that much; never mind that the cleanup of the estate in its present condition would have taken anyone else weeks.

“Not to worry, my lord,” Sebastian assured, scooping Ciel off the messy floor—presently laced with glass bits and strewn with broken furniture—and carrying him over to the bed. “I will see that the manor is cleaned in time. You see, I am simply one _hell_ of a butler.”

“I have my doubts about that last part.”

“Rightfully so, my lord, if tonight’s events are to be believed.”

“And yet I do like you as you are.”

“Oh, do you, my lord?” Sebastian asked in a voice that dripped of false coyness, bending to kiss the earl. “Or should I say, _Ciel_?”

Ciel hummed in approval.

“Because I rather thought—” Sebastian smiled wickedly, “—that you ‘ _loved_ ’ me; did you not?”

“I’m not going to say it twice in one day!” Ciel protested, blushing. “You’re lucky you heard it at all.”

“Indeed, indeed,” Sebastian agreed, kissing Ciel’s collarbone. “For a variety of reasons, not the least of which is this: I am most foolishly in love myself.”

“With what,” Ciel teased, “a cat?”

“No, my lord. With the person for whom I am a dog.”

Ciel smiled, accepting Sebastian’s kissing. “That doesn’t change the fact that you have to wash several rooms, repair the windows, replace the furniture, dispose of bodies, and do anything else that is required to make the manor look normal, _before_ Grell has a chance to bring anyone here. Whatever damage the servants have done will need to be corrected as well.”

“Of course, my lord.”

“And—” (Ciel’s clasped Sebastian’s hand) “—stay with me for a while first.”

“Forever, my lord. There is no longer an ending.”

And though Ciel was speaking about this moment, and Sebastian was speaking about the rest of time, Ciel smiled in the perfect picture of contentedness.

Meanwhile, Grell Sutcliff (who was idling on the roof and unashamedly eavesdropping on the proceedings) could fathom no explanation for what happened next, for it was not at all what Grell expected to hear, and rather exceeded the reaper's perception of demons’ capabilities. If _Grell_  had just accomplished a lifetime’s work, with Sebastian’s assistance, after years of dedicated efforts, there would have been a much louder display of affection.

Instead, there was only a very soft whisper, which sounded impossibly like Sebastian professing his love, followed by the Earl of Phantomhive’s first name.


End file.
